


October Morning

by Sandoz (Sandoz_Iscariot17)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Canon Compliant, M/M, Romance, Tea, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandoz_Iscariot17/pseuds/Sandoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is the first person to ever bring Erik tea in bed. He's also the first person to tickle Erik--if Erik doesn't kill him first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	October Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [traumschwinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/gifts).



> For traumschwinge, who requested "Lazy cuddling in bed devolves into a tickle fight." X-Men: First Class and its characters don't belong to me, this is just for fun.

_October, 1962_

Erik opened his eyes. At dawn his eyes were blue, a dark sea-deep color with flecks of green. By evening his eyes would be as gray as cold, intractable steel. Though Charles loved both colors, he longed especially for the blue eyes at dawn. Perhaps it was because he was the only one who saw Erik so early.

“Good morning,” Charles said standing at the foot of his bed, wearing only a paisley robe that had belonged to his father. His hands were occupied with two steaming teacups. Erik’s eyes took him in for a moment and then narrowed with suspicion. He sat up ramrod straight in bed.

“What time is it?” Erik asked with an accusing note in his voice.

Charles gently sipped from the cup in his right hand. “Six thirty. Why? It can’t be that astonishing to see me up so early.”

Running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair, Erik shot him another cool glance. “I thought I’d overslept.” 

“Impossible,” Charles said with a shrug; miraculously, not a single drop fell from the teacups. “You have the most accurate internal clock I’ve ever seen. The only way you could oversleep would be if I performed a, _ah_ —“ Realizing his hands were full, Charles projected the image of a _third_ arm that raised his fingers to his temple and wiggled them like a top-hatted carnival performer. “Magic trick.”

Erik recoiled and threw the covers off Charles’s enormous, ridiculous four-post bed. “Don’t,” he warned.

The amused smile on Charles’s face disappeared, and he strode across the room and thrust one tea cup in Erik’s direction to stop him from getting up. Whatever one could call the new, still untested bond between them (Were they friends? Lovers? Partners?), it was as fragile as the china cups in his hands.

“I didn’t,” Charles said. “I’m sorry. Bad joke. Raven says my jokes are atrocious. Please.” He nodded at the cup pointing at Erik’s bare collarbone—the cup he still hadn’t touched. 

Erik glanced down, and both men seemed to realize at the same moment that Erik was nude, with only a thin scrap of Charles’s white sheets protecting his modesty. He looked back at Charles, and something in the other’s man’s eyes made the steely glint in his own fade. Erik’s hands remained on the bed, wrinkling the sheets, and he blew a tendril of steam away from the cup.

“Ah,” Charles murmured. 

“No one’s ever brought me tea in bed before,” Erik said with the hint of a smirk.

“Then I’m supremely honored to be the first.”

Erik pulled on the knot at Charles’s waist, untying the robe and letting it fall open. Only last night, Charles remembered, Erik had remarked on the shabbiness of the old, beloved robe, and the ugliness of its paisley pattern. Then Charles felt Erik’s thumbs pressing on his naked hip bones, drawing him closer, and he wasn’t thinking about the robe at all.

“May I put these down first?” he pleaded with a note of upper class annoyance. There was a slight tremor in his hands now, but he held up the steaming teacups admirably.

“No,” Erik commanded, lowering his head. “You can’t spill a drop…until I tell you to.”

***

Later, after their early morning lust had been sated, the two men reclined lazily in Charles’s bed. Erik lay on his side, resting his head on his hand as he gazed out of the open window. It was going to be a cold, clear day. Shafts of warm sunlight fell across the bed, and his eyes were still a dark blue.

Charles took one last sip of tepid tea, until only a sugary sludge was left at the bottom of the cup. He reached over Erik’s long, angular body to rest the cup on his nightstand, and as he drew back his hand, his fingers ghosted across Erik’s ribs. 

Erik flinched. Not an angry flinch, or even a surprised flinch, but enough to make Charles raise his eyebrows in curiosity.

“Hn,” Erik murmured instinctively.

Charles felt as though a comic strip light bulb had suddenly appeared over his head. “Are you ticklish, Erik?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“That’s not ‘no.’”

“Charles—“

Before Erik could protest, Charles’s fingers were scurrying over his sides like hyperactive spiders. Erik gasped (always a startling sound from a man so stoic) and his whole body shook under his lover’s relentless tickling onslaught. His elbow jerked back, nearly striking Charles in the gut. But as it was with everything he did in bed, Charles was insatiable. 

“ _Augh—ah hangh ha!_ ” A strange, strangled half-laugh, like a robot from Mars trying to understand the human concept of humor, escaped Erik’s lips. 

Charles let out a deep, low chuckle; despite the tea, his throat was still parched from his earlier “exercise” with Erik. He had never dared to touch Erik this way before. It felt oddly liberating, like something invisible had been stripped away and they were completely, truly naked together for the first time.

Suddenly, the game was up. Erik sat up with a jolt, his face momentarily hidden in shadow. Charles couldn’t see if his expression was one of anger, relief, or something else. His shoulders shook with his heavy breaths. 

“You,” Erik began, dark eyes fixated on Charles. “You…”

And then Erik was upon him. The long, skilled fingers Charles knew so well skittered up his flesh, teasing his ribs and his armpits. No inch of skin was safe, and Charles would have begged for mercy, if he’d been able to do anything but moan helplessly. His heels in the air, he jerked and kicked with uncontrollable laughter, as if he was a marionette and Erik was manipulating his strings. His face grew hot, and there was another heat stirring between his legs. He wanted to draw Erik’s attention to it, but there was no relief from Erik’s tickling. 

“Please, Erik,” he begged. “I—I can’t…”

Hovering over Charles, Erik smirked, but didn’t respond. Sunlight fell upon his jawline in a most striking way; how handsome and imposing he was, even when tickling his male lover in bed. Not for the first time, Charles was in awe of him.

The bed bellow them began to creak and screech in a horrid cacophony. _What if the boys hear us, or Raven and Moira, what will they think_ —but then Charles exhaled another deep, gulping laugh, and the last shred of his propriety vanished. 

Charles was nearly breathless when the headboard suddenly knocked against the nightstand. The tiny white cup that Charles had placed on the edge of the stand vibrated, then fell, and then shattered on the hard wooden floor. The noise startled both men, and they stopped moving. Erik tensed, his instincts kicking in, and he narrowed his eyes in distaste at the cup for interrupting them.

“Oh damn, the good china,” Charles muttered, still on his back beneath Erik.

But then Erik took Charles’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, turned his face towards him, and crashed their mouths together in a long, consuming kiss.


End file.
